


A Better Offer

by dixid



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2014-01-16
Packaged: 2018-01-07 14:51:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1121156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dixid/pseuds/dixid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin gets offered a choice, death or acting as an Avatar for the Valar.</p>
<p>Inspired by this prompt by Mimi_Sardinia: http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/8973.html?thread=19201037#t19201037</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Thorin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mimi_Sardinia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mimi_Sardinia/gifts).



> Standard Disclaimers Apply: I own none of the Characters, Places or Events mentioned. 
> 
> A huge amount of "Thanks!" go to the multiple Tolkien wiki pages that I've consulted while writing this story.

_“Farewell, good thief, I go now to the halls of waiting to sit beside my fathers, until the world is renewed. Since I leave now all gold and silver, and go where it is of little worth, I wish to part in friendship from you, and I would take back my words and deeds at the Gate.”_

Having given his apology and unable to bear the pity on the hobbit’s face, Thorin closed his eyes to await his death.  He had seen his sister-sons fall, knew they were either dead or dying as he was, and though it pained him to add to grief of his Company, his sister and their people, he did not want to live with his shame; knowing his gold madness that caused their deaths.

A cool breeze wafted across his brow, startling him into consciousness once more.  Opening his eyes he was not met by the expected sight of the halls of his ancestors, or even the makeshift healing tent where he’d lain after being carried off the battlefield.  Instead he was standing on the summit of a great mountain gleaming with snow.  It was not his mountain, not Erebor, the home which he had so long yearned to reclaim.   Indeed, he could not identify any features on the far horizon that might help him identify where he stood. 

The mountain he stood upon seemed to be the tallest in the range of great mountains running north to south.  To the east there was a great sea, to the west a great green land stretching to the horizon.   Where was he?

“Taniquetil”

He heard the word within his mind, but didn’t recognize the voice, or the meaning of the word.  It sounded Elfish to him, and he wondered for a moment if this was simply a fevered dream, there had been Elfish healers in the healing tent when he’d last awoke.   

“Oiolossë?”     He heard the questioning intent of the word, but still could not recognize the word.  

“Mount Everwhite?”    This time the voice wasn’t within his head, but a short distance behind him. 

Thorin spun toward the unseen speaker ready to demand answers.   Before he could demand anything, his mind caught up to his mouth.  “For once,” said a voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like his sister Dis.

He had never seen this mountain range, nor the speaker.  Not in person at least, but he recalled images and references on ancient scrolls in the great library of Erebor during history lessons as a young Dwarfling.   Now he knew where he was, although why he’d been sent there and not the Halls of Waiting to join his ancestors still alluded Thorin.  Perhaps succumbing to the gold madness meant that he had forsaken his place in those halls and he would not ever see his family again. It was, he supposed, fitting justice for his failures. 

“You are not in Aulë’s Hall because you are not yet dead, Thorin son of Thrain.”

Thorin was jolted from his dark thoughts, refocused on the speaker he had momentarily forgotten. 

Before his stood a tall figure clad a fine blue cloak.  His hair was windblown, not in the way a brisk winter wind sends a dwarf’s hair into his face, but gently blown back, streaming behind him as if the gentle breeze was attempting to style the deep black locks.

“Lord Manwë,” said Thorin, bowing deeply as befitted an audience with one of the Valar, this was no place for the conceit of a shamed Dwarf King.    His early education in Erebor had included what little was known of all the Valar and the land where they dwelt, Valinor, not merely Mahal their creator, as some might accuse.

If I am not dead, how am I here?  _Why_ am I here? 

“You are not truly here at all, you still lie in a healing tent on a battlefield outside your mountain.  I thought perhaps you would enjoy seeing my own mountain as we conversed, so it is that image I placed in your mind.  As for why…”    Lord Manwë paused, he looked contemplative, as if he was gathering his own thoughts or was as unsure of the reason as Thorin. 

“You are not yet dead,” he began again, “but you are quite close to death.”  I wish to offer you an alternative.”     

 An alternative to certain death sounded splendid to Thorin, though he’d learned early in their exile that such precious gifts were rarely, if ever, offered without a price.  Usually a steep price, one that he did not often have the means, or will, to pay.

“And what is it that you require from me and mine in return, my Lord?”  Thorin took care to keep his tone of voice even and respectful.      

The Elder King gave a small half-smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes and turn to look out over the vast sea.

“Middle Earth grows ever darker.  Even from this distance we can feel the discord building.  The Valar have always attempted to exert our influence on the good people of Middle Earth from afar, to sway the balance always toward the light.  Our Maiar were sent to counteract the darkness, yet still it grows.  I believe the time for mere influence is over, it is now time for action. “ 

“Recent events led me to realize that I require an avatar in Middle Earth.   This avatar will be my representative to all races, I would give them my protection and certain powers, while in return they would shelter a part of consciousness and give me a form and voice that speaks directly to those with whom I wish to communicate.   If you will agree to serve as my Avatar, I will make certain that you, and your nephews, recover fully from the recent battle. “

 

At the mention of his sister-sons Thorin’s shame returned, stronger than ever.  How had he forgotten, even momentarily, his recent madness?

“Fili would make a better avatar than I, my Lord.   I am too disgraced to be worthy of such an honor.   He and Kili do not share in my shame, their hearts have ever been pure.”

“Your sister-sons are indeed good lads, but I need a reigning King not a pair of princelings.  Do you believe that either of the princes are diplomatic enough to lead a coalition of dwarves, elves and men?  Do you think a wizard would heed the words of a prince?” 

“If you feel undeserving of this request, you may look upon it as a penance to one of your own whom you greatly disappointed with your recent actions.” 

Thorin raised his eyes to meet the Valar’s own.  “Who of my people have I not disappointed in my madness for gold?”

Lord Manwë sighed, internally cursing the stubbornness of dwarves.  They really were just as mulish as his Maia claimed.

“You are aware of the ring your hobbit carries?

Thorin nodded.  He’d learned of it while imprisoned in the Elf King’s dungeon.  “A handy thing, to be sure, a magical ring that can make a one invisible.

“It is singularly unhandy, that cursed, evil ring he found.  Two of the ring’s previous wearers were driven insane by that wretched gold band.   You know of the Rings of Power, correct?”

Thorin nodded, concern for his, well, _their_ Burglar clawed at his throat.  He wanted to run, to scream.  To do anything but stand and listen to how that traitorous gold ring that ever treacherous gold, would take away Bilbo’s reasoning the way his own had been lost to the gold within his mountain.    Instead he collected himself, straightened his posture and braced himself for the blow he knew was sure to follow.

“That ring is the One Ring, created in the Second Age by Sauron, disguised as Annatar, to control the bearers of the other rings he had made and gifted to the races of Middle Earth.   It corrupts all that it touches.  Should one who is less noble than your Hobbit come to possess the One Ring, it could doom Middle Earth. “

Foreboding weighed heavily Thorin’s spirit as he struggled to imagine the power of such an object in the hands of a creature such as Azog.  Or Thranduil.   Certain disaster either way. 

“Do you wish to keep your Hobbit from this madness, Thorin son of Thráin?”

“Of course I do” 

“And you wish to have your sister-sons recovered, and your honor restored?”

“Yes.”

“Then will you agree to become my Avatar and help me save Middle Earth from the darkness?”

_“Yes, I will.”_


	2. Bofur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It seems like another Valar had the same idea as Manwe.

Bofur walked along the ruined halls of Erebor with a sorrow filled heart.  The recent battle; the Battle of Five Armies as he’d heard it called in the camps, had taken a heavy toll on Thorin’s Company. 

All lived, but their King and the Princes still laid in the healing tents.  It had been three days since the battle’s end and the King had only briefly regain consciousness, just long enough to give his orders to Balin and offer an apology to Bilbo.   Fili and Kili had not woken at all since they’d been carried from the battlefield. 

All of the royal family had severe wounds, but Óin and the Elvish healers that Gandalf can insisted on consulting all agreed that they were healing as well as could be expected, but it did little to raise the Company’s spirits.   Bofur was reminded of the dark time after another great battle when Bifur had been the one injured.   His cousin had lingered on the verge of death for weeks due to the Orc axe still lodged in his skull.   

The helpless feeling he’d had as he watched over his cousin had returned once more, making him restless.   He’d volunteered to scout Erebor’s halls for anything that might be of use to the camp and to find if there were any areas that the wounded could be taken to recover.  Winter would be upon them soon, better to make plans for housing them now rather than after the snow started. 

Many of the uninjured dwarfs who had no skills in healing or cooking had volunteered for the scouting party.  Balin had set up the schedules, including a rotation of members of the Company set specifically as guards for the Treasury.    No one was allowed in the Treasury without permission from Balin and an accompanying Company member, per Thorin’s command. 

Bofur had no doubts that Nori could have gotten into the Treasure Room if he chose, but he was currently occupied with what he’d termed “information acquisition” from Dain’s soldiers.   Dwalin had called it cheating at cards.   Bofur figured the truth was somewhere between the two descriptions.      

Currently Bofur found himself in a part of the mountain that had not yet been explored.   By the undisturbed dust it didn’t look like anyone had travelled this hallway since the dragon had arrived.    There were none of the skeletal remains of dwarves that they’d found along the way from the Main Gate to the rooms that housed the Treasury.   Whatever was down this hallway had held no interest for Smaug.  

Since he was not a native of Erebor, he began looking for a marking that might help him identify where he was, the scouts had been tasked with taking notes on the conditions of the various wings and hallways as they went.   Every hall in the mountain would be marked, unlike folks who lived above ground who had to rely on landscape features such as trees and rivers.  

Stone markings were more reliable, at least to Bofur’s mind, than directions such as “the turn is just past the largest oak”.   Trees died or got be cut down, and then where’d you be?  Lost, that’s where.   He wondered briefly if that’s why Thorin seemed to get lost so often, Bofur would bet his hat that he’d never get lost under the mountain. 

A sign on the smooth stone wall to his right announced that he was in the Temple Wing.  As he followed the main hallway it appeared that each of the Valar has their own temple, with the grandest dedicated to their creator, Mahal.   It was to that temple that Bofur found himself drawn. 

This sacred place had been spared from the dragon’s damage, even the richness of the temple décor could not compete with the vast gold stores in the Treasury.   The Temple walls were covered in polished stone, the top half inlaid with gemstone mosaics depicting Mahal as he created the Dwarves and taught them how to craft.   The floors had the same gemstones laid out in geometric patterns.  At the front of the Temple stood a large stone altar while the back and side walls held stone benches where one could sit and worship.   Beautifully carved columns held the ceiling from collapse, easily three times the height of a man.   Each column had a carved lantern bracket filled with lamp oil, when they were fully lit the room must have sparkled with the light reflected off the gems in the walls and floors.  Now however, the effects of neglect could be seen in the dust that blanketed the room.

On one of the finely carved benches sat a bucket with a cleaning cloth thrown over the side; the water in the bucket long since evaporated.  On the floor next to the bench lay a broom, as if it had been hastily propped against the wall as the cleaner fled the room.  The Temple apprentices had probably been cleaning when Smaug had arrived. 

There was still oil in the lanterns on the columns, so Bofur used his torch to light several of them.   Still feeling a bit restless and not quite ready to head back to camp and face the despair surrounding the Company, he picked up the rag and began to clean.   It was dirty, tiring work certainly, but less so than the sweat and grime of mining. 

He began by dusting the altar.  As he finished setting it to rights he heard footsteps in the hallway.  Another scout had probably seen the lantern light and was coming to investigate.   Turning toward the grand archway that separated the Temple from the hallway he saw an unfamiliar Dwarf, one of Dain’s soldiers, he supposed. 

“Hullo! I didn’t find much in here in way of supplies, but you’re welcome to look again.”  As he put down the dust rag and picked up the broom the other Dwarf spoke up.

“Why are you cleaning?”

Bofur glanced back at the soldier.  “It’s our Creator’s Temple; it needs to be put right so that those who survived can come and give proper thanks and pray for the injured.”

“Are you a Celebrant? Or an Acolyte?"

Bofur shook his head and laughed, “No lad, I’m just a miner and occasionally a toy maker."

“So why are you the one cleaning this temple, shouldn’t that be someone else’s duty?”

“Because it’s needed,” Bofur replied. “I doubt there are any Celebrants or Acolytes in the camp, unless Dain specifically travels with such company.  If he does, their time would be better used to give comfort to the dying and the injured.”    And the grieving, he added mentally, thinking of Thorin and the lads.  They’d lain so still on their cots after being carried off the battlefield, barely clinging to life.

The other Dwarf looked lost in thought and not inclined to offer his help with the cleaning.  Bofur didn’t mind, he swept all the dust and debris away from the statue of Mahal. 

The floor was ornately decorated with a mosaic of gemstones and would need to be mopped and polished to properly shine, but Bofur was pleased to see that it wouldn’t require any repairs.   As he finished the last of the sweeping, he noticed that the other Dwarf was still in the Temple, watching him.    “That’s better,” he thought as he set aside the cleaning supplies and made his way to the altar.    

Set into the Altar was a large basin used for offerings to Mahal.  Usually these offerings were gold or gems offer with prayers or to thank their Creator for the blessings bestowed upon them.   The offerings were gathered by the Temple keepers and used for the upkeep of the Temple and charitable works.

“If the Arkenstone were mine”, he thought, “I would give it as an offering so you might see to it to spare Thorin and his sister-sons.  And so that the dragon sickness would leave the Company forever so that Bilbo might forgive us for our madness.”

He had nothing as valuable as the Arkenstone to offer; though he supposed with his share of the treasure he could find something suitable as soon as Dwalin saw fit to stop guarding the doors of the treasury.  The Company had agreed not to divide any of the treasure until the heirs of Durin woke. 

“It’s not much,” he said, placing a small black stone into the bowl.  The piece of black jasper had been given to him by his parents when he’d first gotten hired on as a miner.  It was supposed to bring the wearer good luck and keep them safe.   The token must have worked, despite all the opportunities to do themselves an injury on their quest, he and his family had come through unscathed, more or less.

His offering made, he removed his hat and bowed his head to pray.  “Mahal our Creator, if my humble offering finds favor with you, please hear my prayer.  Thank you for keeping us safe on our journey.” Bofur paused, thinking of the other Dwarf in the Temple. Not knowing where the stranger’s loyalty lay, he kept the rest of his prayer silent. “And please let our King and Princes live.” 

“Isn’t that the talisman you parents gave you?”

Bofur turned to look at the other Dwarf.  How could he have guessed that?  Did they know each other?

A soft light flared around the stranger, and when it waned, the Dwarf was the very image of the statue of their Creator. 

Gasping, Bofur dropped to his knees, “My Lord,” he began, hurriedly removing his hat and bowing his head.

“Oh, get up, I’m not one for bowing and scraping, much less kneeling.”

Bofur got back to his feet and Mahal smiled warmly.  Idly Bofur wondered if he’d taken a blow to the head during the battle and not realized it.  Surely he was hallucinating. 

“You’re not hallucinating; stop being so dramatic.  If I’d wanted to talk to an overdramatic Dwarf I’d go visit Ori.”

“Ori isn’t…he’s a good lad.”  Was he really arguing with his Creator?

“I didn’t say he wasn’t, but he does have a tendency toward drama.  It makes him a better writer.  Not that you aren’t capable of it yourself.  You did make the hobbit faint after all.”

“And speaking of the hobbit, I need to tell you something important, so stay quiet for a moment and listen.”

Bofur nodded mutely.  It wasn’t, he thought, as if anything Mahal might say could ever be considered unimportant.

“That magic ring your friend Bilbo carries, it’s dangerous.  It’s a relic of dark power and must be destroyed without delay.”

“How can I destroy it?”  Bofur didn’t hesitate, he wasn’t losing another friend.  He couldn’t heal the line of Durin, but maybe he could keep Bilbo safe.

“It must be taken to the place it was forged, only there can it be unmade.  I can guide you there, however I cannot do it in this form.  If you agree to allow me to use you as my Avatar, I can protect you from the danger you will face.”

“Yes, of course, I’ll do whatever needs to be done.  What about the King and Princes, will they recover?”

“They have already begun to wake.”

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there's at least two members of Thorin's Company that are going to be acting as Avatars for the Valar. I'm going to list the future Avatars as I post their chapters so that there are still some surprises.


	3. Fili & Kili

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fili and Kili wake up.

Fili and Kili wake within moments of each other, just as they have always done.   But they don’t wake in their cramped quarters in Ered Luin, nor anywhere have they been since leaving on their quest.  The room they wake in has an embossed gold ceiling atop shimmering silver walls.  Set in one of the walls is a finely carved bronze door.   The bed they are on is plush, with soft sheets of silk, under a richly embroidered coverlet.  If not for the sun streaming in through the large windows they would believe themselves to be in Erebor.   They’d both dreamed of rooms such as these when they listened to the stories of their family’s lost kingdom.

“Do you suppose we’re in the Halls of Waiting?” asked Kili.

Fili nodded sadly, “We must be, the last thing I remember was seeing Thorin fall, and then you fell defending him before I could get to you.  Amad is going to kill us.”

Kili smirked, “I think those Orcs beat her to it.”

“It’s nice to know that being dead hasn’t killed your awful sense of humor.”

The door to the chamber opened and two tall figures walked entered.  The brothers shared a questions look with each other. Were those Elves?  What were they doing in Mahal’s Hall?

“Good, you’ve woken.  Please don’t be alarmed, but you’re actually still sleeping.  Or at least your bodies are still sleeping back in the healing tents at Erebor.”  The speaker was a young-looking female, with a sweet sounding voice, while her companion was male and both wore cloaks trimmed in fur.  

“Welcome to Valmar.  I’m Vána, and this is Oromë, my husband.  We’ve brought you here because we must beg a favor.”

“What could we possibly do for the Valar?” asked Fili.  He was certain this was not what Balin had planned when he’d taught them their lessons about the Valar, but he found himself suddenly grateful for his old tutor. 

It was Oromë who spoke this time.  “The hobbit within your company carries a cursed ring.  If let be, it might fall into the hands of those with ill intent and all of Middle Earth would fall into utter ruin.”

“So you want Bilbo’s ring”, surmised Kili.   The brothers shared an uneasy look, how did they know if they could trust these beings?  Perhaps they simply wanted the rings for themselves. 

“We don’t want the ring,” Vána assured them, “We want to destroy it.”

Fili shrugged, “Simple enough to melt it down in one of the forges once they’ve been cleaned and started again.”

Vána sighed, “No, it won’t be that easy.”  She continued on, explaining the ring’s origin and true purpose, its history and explained the only way to destroy the evil artifact. 

When she had finished, her husband took over, explaining that they wished for the brothers to act as their Avatars, so they might choose to allow the Valar to help on this new quest.  “If you choose to help us, of course.”

Fili and Kili smiled at each other and bowed to the pair. 

“Fili”

“And Kili”

“At your service,” they replied.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is so short in comparison to the first two chapters. With twice as many Dwarrow, you'd think it would be the longest. I think it's because the boys don't really need words to know what the other is thinking. 
> 
> This is the only time we'll see two of the Valar approaching their chosen Avatars together. All but one of the rest of the Valar think that they are the only ones with this great idea. One knows exactly what their spouse is up to though, and doesn't want to be left out. Because she is tired of his secretiveness.


	4. Interlude - Yavanna

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short scene where we learn what Yavanna thinks of her husband's plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was not the chapter I'd hoped to post, but Yavanna demanded her say. I'm recovering from a sinus infection, so this Interlude will act a both an apology that I haven't posted anything new and a promise that I am still writing.

“Eru save me from the stubbornness of Dwarves, and their Creator,” she thought as she backed away from the gazing pool in her garden.   She’d had all she could tolerate of her husband’s secretive behavior. 

Thinking of the scene she’d just witnessed in Erebor’s temple, she wondered how he’d feel if she just ran off and chose an avatar of her own without consulting him.

“It would serve him right,” she said.   She had just as much to lose in the fight for Middle Earth as he did.  Even more, since her trees and plants were far more numerous than his Dwarves.

She straightened her skirts and squared her shoulders.  “Yes,” she thought, that’s exactly how she should handle this situation.  Stopping to decide who to choose as her avatar, she considered the actions of her husband’s children.    She’d already discarded the idea of any race but Dwarrow for her avatar.   Let their Creator see how he liked it when they decided to keep secrets from him.   And she’d not have one of those Iron Hills Dwarrows either.  If they’d been too scared to face a dragon for their own king, they’d tremble at her suggestion of venturing to Mount Doom. 

She’d been vexed with the behavior of Thorin Oakenshield’s company for most of their adventure.   Almost as vexed as she was at her husband.   The whole lot of them needed to be taught some manners, she thought, thinking back to their dinner party in Imladris.   Suddenly she knew who she must choose as her avatar. 

“Yes, he’ll do nicely,” she said, thinking of the young one who’d refused to eat his salad.  She’d teach him to appreciate greens, and teach her husband not to underestimate her at the same time.


End file.
